


Soldiers and Their Mentors

by OverlookTheWorld



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Cassandra has feelings, Characters having a chat, Feelings, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sewing, Trauma, mentor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 09:05:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14398803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverlookTheWorld/pseuds/OverlookTheWorld
Summary: A short fic about a chat Krem and Cassandra have after Cassandra finds out the truth about Lord Seeker Lucius. It starts with Cassandra not knowing how to repair a gamberson and ends with a prayer.





	Soldiers and Their Mentors

Non-Blasphemous cursing filled the armory that evening. The source, Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast with more punctures in her fingers than the thick fabric in her lap. 

“Blasted piece of -!” Cassandra cut herself off, hearing the door open

Seeing the young Lieutenant she quickly panicked, she wasn’t exactly acting in a manor becoming of Divine Justinia’s Champion. “Lieutenant, I was just. . . “ 

Krem watched her struggle to get the frayed layers of cotton to connect. Clumsy hands obviously more used to fighting than stitching. His gait was stifled by a newly patched up wound in his upper thigh. He carelessly chucked his damaged leg plate onto one of the metal work table. 

“Gamberson’s are a bitch to repair, pass it here.” Krem assured, taking one of the empty stools scattered about. 

“You don’t have to do this you know,” looking ashamed at her incompetence Cassandra reluctantly handed the gambeson over. 

“Merc’s code, wounded soldiers don’t repair their own armor. You’ve got a body to fix” Krem said casually, picking apart The Seekers clumsy stitching.

“I’m not a merc,” Cassandra protested 

“Chief says you fight like one, though chief also says you fight like a man so maker knows what his words worth” Krem joked. 

“Watch the blasphemy, what did you do to yourself anyway?” scolded the Seeker.

“Fat arsed qunari after the chief now that he’s Tal Vashoth, axe went straight through. What did you do?” Krem asked, still working neatly to stitch layers of fabric together. 

At this Cassandra paused, her usually solom face showing the cracks of regret as she thought of her superior, Lord Seeker Lucius falling to her sword. “I lost a once dear friend. May we leave it at that?” 

“Course, We all have shit we’d rather not share. Anyway come look how I do this stitch.” Krem called her over, showing how he used one finger to separate the fabric layers and blanket stitch them together one by one.   
Cassandra stood behind Krem, watching curiously with clear intent to learn “Your very skilled at this, was your mother a seamstress?” 

“My mother was a professional social climber,” Krem mocked, a certain cold disdain in his voice. 

“I did not intend to offend.” apologized Cassandra. 

Krem sighed with implied acceptance of her apology, his annoyed tone quickly turned lighter as he thought of his father. “My father was a tailor, he taught me to stich, how to keep the books and pretty much every useful thing I didn’t learn from Bull.” 

“He sounds like a good man, may I try and sew the next layer?” Cassandra asked, tenderly taking the Gamberson from Krem. 

“He is,” 

For a short while the two sat in silence. It was nice, Cassandra needed the time to process what had happened with her once mentor. The armory was quiet, much like she remembered the chantry to be. She got into a rhythm of stitching the layers together and her mind managed to wander off to the much darker side of that day with the Lord Seeker. 

Daniel, the apprentice that died in her arms, by her blade. She’d left him when she started the Inquisition, left him to fight for that promotion. The thought made her smile, and then she looked to the young man she had been talking to. 

“Krem,” She called to get his attention. 

Krem looked up from the leg plate he was hammering dents out of. 

“How old are you?” The Seeker asked with a strange thoughtfulness. 

“I’ll be twenty four next summer, will have been with The Chargers around three years then too.” Krem told her proudly. 

“Ah, so you are older. Daniel would have been twenty three soon,” sighing sadly Cassandra handed the gambeson back to Krem. 

Feeling the mood dampen Krem tried to console the older woman, “Is this where I say you look too young to have a son my age?” 

Cassandra smirked, only faintly. 

“Do you want to tell me about him?” Krem asked, understanding. He continued on where Cassandra had left with the stiching.

“Very well, Daniel was just a boy when I met him. Not my son, he was a new conscription to The Seekers. I took him under my wing so to speak, trained him, made sure he saw the healer, he came to me when. . . I . . .I suppose he may have seen me as a mother figure.” Cassandra sounded perturbed at the realization but continued on.

“He was a hardworking boy, always striving for that next promotion. But cocky and took many stupid risks, I once had to cut a demons jaw off his arm. . .Silly boy.” The memories choked her, the memories of the sweet boy she lost. 

Krem stood up, setting down his sewing and walking over to comfort her. He placed a firm hand on Cassandra's shoulder. She found strength in that, but Krem’s hand just felt so much like Daniel’s. 

Cassandra swallowed her pain, standing with great passion. “When I left to start the Inquisition Daniel stayed with The Lord Seeker, I trusted him, I trusted him to protect my boy and look what he did. Fed him demons and poisoned him with red lyrium!”

The Seeker looked broken. 

“I know I’m not Cole, I can’t do that mind thing and tell you how Daniel felt. But us silly young soldiers are all the same. We just want our mentors to be proud.” Krem assured her. 

“He had nothing to prove, I was always proud.” pleaded Cassandra. 

Cassandra leaned against the wall of the armory, crumpling to the floor and ignoring the pain from her wound. Krem carefully lowered himself to sit with her. 

“Pray with me.” Cassandra asked. 

“Of course,” Krem bowed his head. They worship different gods in Tevinter but that hardly seemed important now. 

And Cassandra spoke an old prayer, not one you’d hear in the Chantry or at a local service. This was the prayer of dead soldiers. Muttered only out of desperation and longing in trenches and camps. 

“Thank you Krem,” Cassandra said, resting her head on his shoulder.

**Author's Note:**

> So this was originally going to be Cassandra and Krem talking about Gender and the difference between someone like Cassandra (A fairly masculine woman) and Krem (A trans man). But then I played THAT quest and you know I had to write this. Let me know if you still want these two to chat about gender. 
> 
> Also please comment, I love it. Even if you want to tear my writing to shreds.


End file.
